Ransul the Sellsword: Journal of a Vampire Mercenary
by pdaftw
Summary: Journal entries of my ongoing and newly fresh Skyrim roleplay. Played on a heavily modded for immersion and realism Skyrim Special Edition game for pc. Events occur after the Dragonborn saved Tamriel and after an Imperial victory of the Skyrim civil war.
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

Well, I suppose I should start this by writting a bit about myself. Never been much of a reader and I'll be honest with you, I'm only writting this so I can maybe sell this journal someday for a few more septims I can drink and piss away, since I figure that most men and mer would find my life interesting, if not pitiable, given my line of work and... "Condition".

You can call me Ransul but I change my name as it suits me, and, given my nature and deeds, I change it oftenly. I'm the oldest sibling of five, son to a Redguard couple and my father worked some piece of near-barren soil in a village near Sentinel. Will not elaborate further, for if any of my family still live it would torment and shame them greately to know of my fate.

Times were harsh, we spent many-a-night with hunger in our bellies and then the civil war broke out. Got drafted into the royal army of the Crowns at 17 moons old, a prospect that I welcomed eagerly like the naive and idealistic youth that I was. Just one battle set me straight though. My division was ambushed as it crossed the Herath forest. Slain down to a man, to call it a battle was generous of me now that I think about it. Took an arrow to the cheeck and laid with my comrade's corpses for hours trying to pass off as another one of them, and by some miracle I made it through. Instead of trying to rejoin the Crowns' forces I deserted.

Too ashamed to return home I wandered. The damned Thalmor invaded meanwhile and things in Hammerfell got even worse. Sold my sword-arm for whatever pittance they'd pay me, got mixed up with the wrong crowds, did many things that I am not proud of to make it through. If my dear mother knew a third of it she'd never have a restless night again, of that I am sure.

One fateful day I took a contract with a prospecting mage. I was to escort him to and through some ruins in the Alik'r Desert while he did some research. Seemed credible but I had a bad feeling about it that I remember all too well, and my guts had never disappointed me. The pay was too good to pass up though and my greed got the better of me. Shortly after we delved into the ruins the bastard turned on me and bit my neck out of nowhere, sucked my blood dry and left me for dead.

By some cruel god's intervention I made it through again, but am now cursed to live as a vampire. I'd be lying to you if I told you I never thought of just taking my own life, but I don't look forward to whatever fate awaits me in the afterlife. The Far Shores are forever out of my reach as my many sins weigh me down. When I'll finally take a sword to the gut I'll be either Molag Bal's or the Void's, gods know where I'll end up.

And so I live on, clinging to my miserable life as I spend my contract money on Alto Wine and a warm room in Falkreath, Skyrim. Had to leave Hammerfell to escape a group of particularly bothersome witch hunters, and although I did not come here by choice I must say the town is growing on me. The depressing scenery is fitting and the weather is much more vampire-friendly.

Come dusk I'll take a walk around and a look at the notice boards, but I still have some coin I can spend on booze so no contracts for now.

Bottoms up mate, cheers.


	2. Chapter II: Beast of Bonechill Passage

_-Last Seed, 18th, 4E 203-_

 **The Beast of Bonechill Passage**

Turns out the inn I'm staying in is named "Dead Man's Drink". When I arrived here I only glanced at the inn's sign enough to judge it a tavern, weary from my travel here, and I almost missed this incredibly fitting name. Almost managed a laugh out of me. Almost.

I've been sharing the inn with an insufferable Altmer with which I've conversed. The bitch is a former Thalmor justiciar who got discharged for wanting to execute the children of a Talos worshiping couple (it seems even the Thalmor have limits for cruelty among its' members). She went on and on about how the Altmer are the "superior race", and just when I thought she couldn't possibly get more unlikeable I asked her why was she here if she disliked men so much. She answered she was sightseeing Skyrim's landscapes and cities, for in the Summerset Isles everything is so beautiful that there is no ugliness to contrast with. I swear by Ruptgar it took every drop of containment I had not to punch her teeth in right then and there. Perhaps before I leave this town I'll stick a knife in her ribs and be done with her. Needless to say I think I'll be spending more time outside the tavern than usual. Should do good to my liver.

Took on a contract for the "Beast of Bonechill Pass", a giant white wolf who had been causing trouble for the townsfolk for a long while now. Little did I know that I would end up seeing a real beast and not some overgrown feral dog.

Left the inn at dusk and journied northeast. Saw a contraption some bandits had made to drop boulders on unsuspecting travelers on the road. In my days we'd use our good old scimitars. More honor in it, but I can respect their ingenuity. The bandits were all laying dead near it though. Corpses were too decomposed to draw blood from unfortunately for me and I hadn't eaten for a long while. Luckily though I happened upon what seemed an abandoned camp near the road. Had just finished lockpicking a chest when two Nords and a Khajiit, who I assume where the camp's original occupants, appeared and attacked me on sight. While I dislike Khajiit, as it requires skinning first, the two Nord women were rather tasty, if not a bit coarse.

I finally made it to the cave to find it riddled with bones of all sorts, some were even human. I put down several wolves before I encountered my target: a huge albino wolf, maybe twice bigger than normal. Charged at me right through my magic frost as if it were a mere winter breeze and bit my left arm, tearing at it even through my studded leather bracers but I managed to cut open his throat. If not for my restoration magic I'd have possibly lost my arm.

After I finished cutting off its' head as a proof of killing I decided to inspect the rest of the cave. I followed its' passages to find out they led to a clearing where a magnificent sleeping dragon awaited me atop of an ancient Nord mural. I knew it was sleeping as I sneaked close enough to see it breathing. Its' green scales glistening with the moonlight under a show of aurora borealis painted a truly remarkable scenery that I'm sure I'll never forget. Moments like these help me keep going. Would have liked to inspect that mural from closer up, but I didn't risk that dragon waking up and roast me to a crisp.

I'm back at the _Dead Man's Drink_ now, still reflecting on what I saw. I've always been a "seen it to believe it" kind of Redguard and I had assumed the rumours of dragons in Skyrim to be just that, but they seem to be very true. However, believing in the coming of this "dragonborn" who saved Mundus from some ancient Nord dragon god is still quite the leap that I'm yet to see for myself.


	3. Chapter III: The Blades Agent

-Last Seed, 20th, 4E 203-

 **The Blades Agent**

Took on a bounty on some bandit chief who was holed up in some mine to the northeast. It went fairly, main entrance was guarded so I took a look around and found another one. Turned out it led me straight to the bastard and I only had to kill two of his henchmen to get to him. As I write this I have his head wrapped in a linen bag right beside the journal. He was one ugly cunt.

Before I headed to the mine though I heard some Falkreath guardsmen warning people to stay away from one "Peak Shade Tower" that just so happened to be on my way to my target. According to them, a member of the Blades was hiding near there, slaying any Thalmor that came for him. Now, the killing of Thalmor is always something I endorse, but besides my animosity I grew up hearing tales of the Blades. It was said that they were Tamriel's finest, unmatched in combat and masters of diplomacy and covert operations. Joining them was an old dream of mine, during my youth that is. Before it all started going downhill for me. And so I went looking for this tower, thought I'd finally see a Blade with my own eyes, maybe pay him some respects. Who I ended up meeting wasn't actually a member of the order.

Finding the "Blade" was easy, just followed the corpses of dead Thalmor. Counted maybe nine of them but it was hard to say as what bodies I found where shredded messes. Clean cuts right through the elven armor, even found a torso or two sliced in halves. Whatever steel made this cut was of the highest quality, possibly enchanted too. After finding the tower I entered it to see the corpse of a dead spiriggan and as I approached it I felt that very steel pressed against my neck. A raspy woman's voice asked me if I had a death wish, to which I answered that I didn't, but had no particular wish to live either. Managed to talk her down. When I finally took a look at her I saw not a woman, but a Khajiit. Svashina was her name (or something of the sorts, no idea how to write it down), and she was no Blade but had apprenticed under one. Her armor and weapons had been her master's and these were exquisite in appearence with their famed Akaviri design.

I showed her only respect, but she scorned and mocked me every chance she could and soon enough I understood why. Hatred filled her. Hatred for everyone, but hatred for the Thalmor most of all. She had no other drives, no other ambitions but to kill as many Thalmor as she could. I too have walked that road, the path of revenge, that is, and it leads nowhere. At its end only emptiness is found. But I knew she wouldn't be moved by my words even if I uttered them, such was the determination in her eyes, her words. And so I left her, wishing her good fortune in her quest before she mocked me once more.


	4. Chapter IV: The Turning

-Last Seed, 23rd, 4E 203-

 **The Turning**

Made a hefty sum with the last contracts that will take a while to drink away. Couldn't stand so much as looking at that High Elf whore so I've been doing my drinking outside the tavern. Locals don't like it but none act on their words. Nords tend to be like that, all bark and no bite. Guards are just looking for an excuse to throw me in the dungeon though and that could end very badly for me. As a vampire, when I starve for long periods my vampiric features get more noticeable: Eyes become redder and gain glow, my bone cheeks protrude, my canine teeth grow large and sharp to the point my lips can't contain them and my nails grow hard and long like claws, all the while getting paler and paler. After about a week of starvation my true nature becomes evident, so getting jailed for any longer than that might as well be a death sentence for me.

Discovered this a few days after I was bit. After that Breton was done with me he left me for dead in that ruined tower. Too weak to move myself, I faded in and out of consciousness, surviving off my waterskin which the vampire was "kind" enough to leave me with. I don't know how much time I spent there before I could stand once more, could have been hours or days, but eventually I gathered enough strength and will to try and leave that place, drag myself back to civilization. Never had I felt the sun so strong, battering me relentlessly. I was no fool though, like most, I had heard tales of vampires, stories told quietly around campfires or by mothers trying to get their children to eat their stale bread. I knew what had happened to me, what was happening and what would if I didn't stumble across a helpful traveler or some merciful god, as the nearest town, Jizul, was days away. Even if I made it there it would be too late for me.

My waterskin was emptied long ago, had to drink my piss. Walked for a day and a night, throat was so dry it hurt to breath and I was delusional. Come dawn, wherever the sun touched my skin it felt like hot coals were pressed against my body. Fortunately, I made it to Mirim's Rest, a large cavern that burrowed beneath the dunes popular among Alik'r travelers due to the groundwater stream that can be found there. I then rushed to quench my thirst, but even in my desperate state what I saw in the stream gave me pause. I didn't see myself in my reflection, but some ghoulish version of me. Drank my fill of water that soothed my throat but didn't satiate me. I knew then that it was blood I craved, and it was already too late for me.

Should have just slit my wrists then. That's what my life boils down to really, a whole bunch of "should haves". Instead I sat against a boulder by the stream and just stood there. Didn't do anything, didn't think about nothing. Hours passed until the sounds of someone entering the cavern brought me back down to Mundus. I saw two figures walking in, a man and a child. I hid, couldn't let them see me in that state. I watched as they drank from the stream and filled their waterskins. They talked and I listened. Understood they were Alik'r nomads, father and son. Father was teaching him the ways of the desert and they were planning on spending the day there.

As I observed I grew hungrier. My senses seemed heightened, I could hear them breath and smell them as if they were right beside me. I could see them move slowly, slower than usual. I could not avert my gaze, those two were all I could see, all I wanted to see. Couldn't help myself, I sneaked my way towards them, stalked them. When the man was within my reach I pounced on him, more animal than man. Bit a good chunk out of his neck as his son watched in horror. His screams filled my ears, but as soon as my mouth was filled with flesh all I felt was pure joy. I ravaged him infront of his child. Gods...

When I was done with him the child was no longer there, his tracks led outside towards the desert. Good thing, as I would have probably eaten him too. Was covered in blood so I went to wash it all off in the stream, still in a state of apathy. When I looked at my reflection I saw my old face again beneath all the blood, but I could no longer see my old self. To you though I'm probably just some distant freak. A source of entertainment. Well then, you may call me your own personal jester for all I care.

Fuck off.


	5. Chapter V: Runil's Journal

-Last Seed, 26th, 4E 203-

 **Runil's Journal**

My drunken strolls brought me to Falkreath's graveyard. Hard not to end up there actually, half the bloody town's covered by it. Night was creeping in as I stared at a small altar to Arkay. I'm familiar enough with the Imperial pantheon to know he is their god of death and seasons, cycles. My undeath a defiance of his will, my mere presence there an affront to him. Most likely. Who knows the mind of a god...

I was drunkenly reflecting on this as I heard a series of insults and profanity directed at me. Only then did I realise that a funeral was being held mere steps away and I was standing there in my pitiful state like an oaf, holding a half empty bottle of wine. Some Nords started heading for me when the priest who was carrying out the ceremony calmed them down and took me by the arm, leading me to his house nearby. I followed his lead, didn't had anywhere to be and nothing to do but to drink. Might as well do it in a cozy home with no Altmer whore to bother me.

His home was humble and devoid of any baubles to catch my eye apart from a small shrine to Arkay. I sat with him by a small table with nary a word. Offered him some of my wine when I finally noticed I wasn't High Elf-free after all as the priest was an elderly Altmer named Runil. He commented on my state, said he could tell I was a pained and that I should tell him what troubled me, share my woes to ease their burden. As I drank I told him I didn't do it to remember, but to forget. He replied that "Burying the past is much harder than burying remains", but I was more interested on what brought a High Elf to human lands in these troubled times, worshipping human gods to boot. So I questioned him and he sighed before telling me he was seeking redemption, for he had served the Dominion during the Great War as a battlemage. He had killed many for a cause he can now see is evil and twisted.

After a brief moment of silence I opened up to him and told him about my experience in war, as short as it was, before I deserted in my youth. Don't know why I did it though, maybe it was the alchohol. Told him every sordid detail about that ambush, how I saw my brothers in arms, some my friends, get slaughtered, how I didn't move until I took a bolt to the cheek, how I cowardly hid among the corpses of my companions, how my face hurt like nothing I had ever felt before, how I pissed my fucking trousers as the Forebears checked the bodies for the living... And then how I ran afterwards. You know what he replied? He praised me. Said I had avoided the killing of innocents and how the Divines looked favourably upon me for he wished he had done the same.

Took me a while to absorb what he said. How could someone defend my actions here and what kind of gods would approve of them? I mocked him, called him a dimwit, amidst other insults, and headed for the door but he stopped me before I reached it, telling me some bandits had robbed him of his journal in the mountain pass west of here and that I should read it to understand how to free myself from my torment. He added the journal was dear to him and if I returned it there'd be some gold in it for me too, but I left without saying another word.

The next day I had foolishly made up my mind and come dusk I packed up and headed for the mountain pass. Passed some ruined fort named Helgen where I stayed for a while, using it to rest between my searches. Took me a day and a half but I managed to track a few suspicious looking Nords back to their hideout, however, I soon realised that they were no common footpads. Their hideout was a cave filled with palisades, enchanting altars and alchemical equipment. It was so large in fact that I managed to get each bandit alone with enough patience and caution. Each used basic magic. Lost count of my killings (maybe 12 men?) as none could resist me, until I found a large and well armored Orc who I couldn't catch by surprise. Rushed him as he tossed magical ice spikes at me that pierced right through my ward spells. Took one to the chest but the iron plate got the worst of it, and then I dueled him for a while before I finally got the best of him.

As I searched the cave for the journal I happened upon a Dunmer completely enveloped in spider webs. Was about to leave her to her fate when she shouted she had a child in Riften. Now, I may be a cold bastard (quite literally since, as a vampire, my body is unnaturally cold) but I'm not completely heartless. As I cut through the thick webs I questioned her. She had been a member of this bandit gang, but it was no bandit gang at all, but a cult led by Bashnag, the Orc I had killed. She was quite impressed when I mentioned his fate and explained she had lost his trust unjustly due to his paranoia and he had sentenced her to be fed to these giant spiders. Killed a few of them already, horrid creatures but we got worse in Hammerfell, the giant Alik'r scorpions come to mind.

She was extremely thankful and went on and on about her life while I searched the cave but I couldn't care less, until she made the mistake of explaining she was a necromancer who sought a peaceful place among this cult to study the dark art. I may be a magic user, but necromancy is a foul art that should be forgotten. To meddle with the dead and deny them their rest is without honor, to corrupt our ancestors is unclean. I killed her with one cut to the neck. Maybe you think I am heartless after all but I don't give two shits, her little brat can manage on his own and her death was much more merciful than what awaits necromancers in some parts of my lands.

Finally found the journal beneath a pile of blood stained clothing. Quickly read through it, as it wasn't that big, eager to learn Runil's answer to my woes. In it, the elf wrote about his deeds in battle, how he led a small division of Thalmor battlemages in Cyrodill through multiple victories and slaughters. But now he is troubled by nightmares and a constantly troubled mind, his past battles haunting his dreams when asleep and his memories plaguing him when awake. Seemingly, he finally found peace in Falkreath after taking the priestly robes. Took upon himself to plant as many flowers as he can in the city to alleviate its depressing atmosphere too. So I suppose that was it, his solution for my torment. But he didn't understand the depths my sins reach, depths that can't be filled no matter how many grieving families I consoled or fucking flowers I planted. Didn't know what I was expecting really, should have known better. There's no secret trick, no miracle solution for me. And so I tossed the ploughing journal away... Runil can keep whatever pittance he'd pay me.


	6. Chapter VI: Old Ghosts

-Last Seed, 28th, 4E 203-

 **Old Ghosts**

Money ran out so I had to get myself back to work. Took on a bounty the Falkreath's Jarl had put on a local bandit chief who as holed up in some encampment about a days march off Falkreath to the north-west. Name was unknown so all I had was the description his surviving victims gave: tall middle-aged Orc, bald with brown knotted beard and ugly as hells (like all Orcs naturally are). Wasn't much to go on, admittedly, but no other contracts were up to par so I rolled with it and left as soon as I sobered up.

Had walked for a few hours. As I walked the shoddy stone road I was feeling mildly indisposed from the sun exposure. Could feel my naked arms starting to sunburn and was taking care so as to shelter them beneath my hooded fur mantle when suddenly I heard a twig crack to my right. I immediately stopped and looked. At first saw nothing, but after a brief gaze I noticed a big spot of bended light approaching me quickly accompanied by what I could now tell were the sounds of footsteps. It was someone under invisibility magic. Before I could reach for my scimitar the figure was already upon me and I could do nothing more than shield myself with my iron gauntlets. Felt a loud shock against my right one and a gash to my left arm accompanied by a flash of magical light that finally revealed my enemy's appearance, but in the heat of the moment I only discerned a dark figure. He had struck my left arm with a scimitar and my right gauntlet with a dagger, both aimed at my face and neck. I instictively closed in further on him and managed to grab both his arms after a short struggle before he could swing his weapons again and headbutted him in the face. He fell to the ground and I immediately fell upon him where I punched his bloody face in until he stopped squirming. Definitely wasn't my cleanest kill but I had made it.

Took a moment to finally see who the bastard was: a hooded Dark Elf cladded in dark and red leather, now lying in a pool of blood with a pulp for a face. He had left a deep cut in my left arm where he had buried his sword that I immediately saw to with my spells. After my arm was fixed I searched his corpse and found a most curious letter with him that explained this whole ordeal. He was a Dark Brotherhood assassin and someone had performed the Black Sacrament on me.

Someone wanting me dead is nothing new to me. Made plenty of enemies in my years, people who want nothing more than to see me hung from a tree for my crimes, for what I put them or their loved ones through. I even have a few bounties on my head back in Hammerfell, so someone paying for my death came as no surprise. My old ghosts are catching up on me. Wasn't today though. Still I used to be relieved that I couldn't name the Dark Brotherhood as one of my enemies. Know they're going through tough times now though, even saw two of their chapters rooted out in Sentinel and Helgathe but I knew they'd linger somewhere else and it looks like they're still very much active in Skyrim. Don't know if, now that I killed who they sent for me, they'll call it quits or double the efforts, will have to sleep with one eye open for a good while. Filled my belly with Dunmer though. He was a scrawny fellow but he sufficed.

I was nearing the bandit camp when I spotted a campfire in the wilderness. As I approached I could tell the figure of a lone Orc, he wore leather armor, his bow resting beside him as he skinned a wolf. Was probably some hunter from some nearby Orc stronghold but still I had to be certain he wasn't my target. I approached cautiously with my weapon sheathed but my hand resting on its' handle. Without so much as looking at my direction he shouted for me to halt.

I stayed silent as I took a good look at him. Wasn't bald, had unkept beard and a painted face so it shouldn't be him. He asked me if I was with the bandits of "Kniferidge". Assumed he was talking about the bandit encampment nearby and told him the truth. Turns out he too was after an Orc that ran with them but didn't know if he was the chief. Didn't even know if he still with them actually. His target was named Lagdu and he used to be his friend until he killed some other friend of his. Had 29 orchicalum arrows in his quiver and one of iron and blood for him. Didn't really care about his little vendetta story other than it being true or not, but he went on in great detail. Chose to trust him, chose correctly. His name was Brakh and I rested for a while in his encampment before we set off. He was an Orc of few words but still I learned a few skinning tips that may yet come in handy for those Khajiit: skin in one swoop, keep the meat from the dirt and the fur from meat. Soaks up the blood.

Come night we went for the camp. It was sizeable, wooden palisades, two wooden watch towers complete with two huts and a forge. It went on into some mine too. Wouldn't have been able to take this on single-handedly but I wasn't. Brakh had been observing the camp too, at night the majority of the bandits headed off to do their banditry and whoring while some stayed so we waited. Soon enough about 10 men left the camp, no Orc with them. After about an hour we striked. Brakh proved a more than capable archer, shot down the sentries in the towers while I brought frost and sword to the rest. Most were drunken, sleepy messes. Killed five, Brakh three, but still no Orc. Until out of the mine he came, attracted by the sound, a huge bald Orc, ugly too, of course, wearing mail and an impressive two handed claymore. Didn't even get to use it though, between my magic and Brakh's arrows he fell midway. Cut his head off as proof of killing and showed it to Brakh, asking if he was Lagdu. He was noticeably disappointed as he nodded no.

So we set off looting the place as quickly as we could before the rest of the cunts arrived. Brakh got to keep an orchicalum bow, better than his wooden one, and the chief's claymore: huge, beautifully decorated and high quality steel. Definitely castle-forged and worth a heavy pouch. I got to keep the rest. Could have killed him, get all the loot for myself but he fought with honor and truth is I couldn't have done it alone. After we got back to his encampment he immediately started packing, for he wouldn't give up on his quest for revenge. Didn't know why I cared to but I told him its' futility, was gonna get himself killed for nothing, but he was having none of it. He then said he had a trail to follow that he couldn't let get cold and left with a lone nod at me.


	7. Chapter VII: Clavicus Vile

-Heartfire, 2nd, 4E 201-

 **Clavicus Vile**

Things have certainly took a turn, now whether they did for the better or worst I cannot yet say.

As I arrived in Falkreath the guards at the gate halted me to inspect the bloody linen bag I was carrying where I had my last bounty's head in. They already knew me and my trade, but had to be sure. Once they verified I hadn't murdered someone else they let me in, but not before one of them asked me if I had seen a dog in my travels. Only had seen a pack of wolves. He then informed me that the smith Lod had lost his dog and was looking for a new one to replace him, paying for someone who'd sell him one. I kept than in mind and after I collected my bounty I headed for the local forge.

When I arrived Lod was fixing some horseshoes. Asked him how much he was offering and it was 50 septims. It wasn't much, but it was risk-free so I told him I'd take a look around for a dog. Plenty of vagabond mutts abound, figured it'd be easy. Little did I know this most mundane ordeal would turn into one of the most remarkable events of my life.

Spent the next day drunk into oblivion. Come dusk in the day after I bought a goat leg and a jug of wine and left to lure myself a dog. After about an hour of searching I came across what looked like a lone mutt in the outskirts of Falkreath. Looked ordinary, with a brownish-grey long fur coating that I've come to notice is the norm among the dog races of Skyrim. I kneeled and waved my raw goat leg for the scent to attract it and it indeed started heading towards me enthusiastically, but I noticed it never so much as glanced at the treat I had presented. When it neared me he stopped and I heard a man's voice emanating from it saying it needed my assistance. It hadn't moved his mouth while I heard the voice but it had clearly come from him. I immediately looked at my half empty jug of wine wondering if it was the drink's fault but I was nowhere near the drunkenness required. And then it spoke again, asking for my attention. It had the voice of an adult person, albeit with a slightly obnoxious tone. I then started considering this being an illusion trick but I couldn't discern any magic upon the dog. If this was illusion magic it had to be powerful, but I looked around extensively and saw not a living soul who could have cast it. I asked it how was it possible for it to speak.

It spoke again:"This land is filled with fire-breathing flying giant intelligent lizards and two-legged cat people, but a talking dog is too strange for you?" I answered a simple, cynical yes. Saw and heard of plenty of outlandish things in my travels, but never a talking dog. It then relented and claimed to be no dog, but a Daedra named Barbas under Clavicus Vile, child-god of the morningstar, Daedric prince of bargains, pacts and wishes. Admittedly, my knowledge of the Daedra is very limited. My mother raised me to believe that all the Daedra are evil incarnate, demons whose sole purpose is to torment and tempt us mortals into sin. With time I got to meet a few Daedric worshippers, talk to knowledged people, and realised things are not that linear. Started learning a thing or two about them while researching vampirism after I got infected, how the first vampire was converted after she was defiled by Molag Bal himself. Also, I once picked up a short book titled "The Book of Daedra" that had short descriptions of each Daedric god, so I vaguely remembered Clavicus' name.

Immediately my mind started racing. If I could win the prince of pacts' favor I could ask for anything. A cure for my vampirism, perhaps even go back in time and get a second chance at life. If such thing is even possible that is, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to ask. These possibilities excited me to the point they overran my usual scepticism. This talking dog could be lying through his teeth but I wanted to believe otherwise and so I did. I asked Barbas how I could be of service and he explained that he had become separate from his master that he wished to join once more, but, since he was away from Clavicus, the god's power is weaker and so we had to travel to a shrine to him where his influence is stronger, and it just so happened there was one located in the nearby mountain pass in a cave. I immediately offered to escort Barbas there and he jumped excitedly, ordering me to follow him.

The journey there was uneventful but I got to talk to this Daedra a bit. Couldn't get much out of him on why or how he had gotten separated from his god but he did explain he was no lesser Daedra, but indeed an intrinsic part of Clavicus himself. According to him, he holds much of the god's power within and can transform into whatever form he desires, but that he prefers being a dog for some reason. He also added that he likes to "make sure Clavicus doesn't have too much fun".

It was well past midnight by the time we got to the cave. Barbas then explained the cave was occupied by a group of Vile's worshippers who "may not be very friendly". I assured him not to worry and we headed in, he was part of their god after all, surely they'd be thrilled he was back. But as soon as we encountered a Nord woman by the cave's entrance I understood I was in for trouble. I greeted her in a friendly manner but as soon as she saw Barbas she unsheathed her sword, screaming madly the Daedra's name and calling for reinforcements. I tried to calm her but she clearly had it in for Barbas, soon enough she rushed me and I put her down. I asked Barbas what was happening and he just kept insisting that we had to reach the shrine so we pushed further into the cavern. It looked like these cultists had settled in here for the long haul, as there was plenty of furnishing and accomodations to be seen, but as I slayed them one by one I realised some were vampires. Most, in fact. Recognised it through the glow in the eyes. With time I learned that only other vampires, or maybe powerful magic users, can discern this glow, but when starved for long periods it becomes apparent to all.

Killed maybe 10 when we finally reached the shrine. It was a magnificent, big statue of, what I assumed, was Clavicus Vile, depicted as a young, elvish looking person with long curly hair holding a horned mask of sorts and accompanied by a stone hound that I figured was Barbas. Barbas jumped happily as he rubbed against the statue while I approached it. Silence filled the large chamber, apart from Barbas' happy moans and groans, and so I layed down my blood soaked scimitar, kneeled before the shrine and I spoke: "Lord Vile, I have a request for you."

Soon enough the chamber filled with the gods' voice. "By all means, let's hear it. It's the least I could do, since you already helped me grant one final wish for my last worshippers... They were suffering so from vampirism, and begged me for a cure. Then you came in and ended their misery! I couldn't have planned it better myself. So, what's your heart's desire? What kind of deal can we strike?". His answer gave me pause. Had I been tricked by this god into being his unwilling executioner? And I quickly realised that this was not the type of god I'd want to be dealing with at all. My immediate thoughts were to run, but as Barbas explained I was within Vile's influence, his reach, and I had drawn his full attention. Figured it would be unwise to simply leg it, so I told him I was merely there to reunite him with Barbas, a request he quickly declined showing his contempt for the Daedra. These were the first sentences I had heard a literal god speak, but he had spoken with the voice of some spoiled teenager. Was this what immortality and immense power brought? Are all gods like this? These were the questions that raced my mind at the time but couldn't afford to give them much thought. I wasn't sure on what to do next but the god added that, after all, Barbas might earn a place at his side again if we performed a simple task for him: To bring him an exceptionally powerful axe that's in a place called "Rimerock Burrow" that Barbas can lead me to. If we did so, Clavicus would grant me a boon with "no strings attached". Know better than to trust him, but I couldn't turn a god down and so I reluctantly agreed.

Barbas was clearly excited with the prospect as I asked for him to point out in my map of Skyrim where this place was. He rested his paw north of the Haafingar hold, a long way north of Falkreath. We got back to Falkreath where I rested from the whole ordeal for a while and then went off to spend all my savings on improvements to my armor and weaponry. This might be the most dangerous endeavour I embarked on so far so I need to prepare myself as better as I possibly can. Bought a braced steel cuirass and a short chainmail shirt that will help protect my arms better, still have the elbows uncovered though. Also eyed a fine steel scimitar that was a notch above my iron one that I quickly acquired and a beautiful gold ruby necklace with a fire resistance enchantment on that will help me deal with my vampire fire vulnerability. On the total I spent almost two thousand septims but I am better equipped than ever before.

Will be heading north with Barbas next day. A vampire and a demon dog on the road. Seems my life turned into something out of a a children's tale, minus my cannibalism of course.


	8. Chapter VIII: A Road Less Lonely

-Heartfire, 7th, 4E 203-

 **A Road Less Lonely**

They say dogs are men's best friends and I'd say that applies to demon dogs like Barbas too. So far. Still don't know for sure if I can trust him.

Before we set off from Falkreath I remarked that a journey that far north on foot would take weeks and I asked him why he couldn't simply shapeshift into a dragon and fly us there. Barbas said that Clavicus has many enemies and manifesting himself on Nirn in such a way would draw their attention, which was something he couldn't afford given his master's weakened state. Fair enough I suppose, can even relate a bit. He does have a horribly annoying tone to his voice. I find myself ending most conversations I have with him rather quickly because of it. Still, I have to admit that it has been nice to have company on the road for once. Ever since my turning I have avoided companionship. Can't afford to risk people knowing of my vampirism, wouldn't be able to feed as most of my feedings come from my contracts or victims I happen upon on the road, but Barbas is a daedra. He doesn't share the same concerns of mortals.

During our travels we saw a woman with a barley sack on her head lying in a clearing near the road. I immediately saw this as a trap. Thought back to my old days of banditry when we did something similar. Marie would lay by the road asking for assistance and lure some passerby that we could accost. With her puppy eyed face and shapely body, she pulled the "damsel in distress" perfectly. Lost count of the men that fell for it. In some other life she would have been an excellent mummer. I do wonder what happened to her...

Anyways I hungered, so I approached the woman. Upon nearing her I noticed she had her hands and feet tied together and when I took the sack off her head I saw she was gagged too. She was a middle-aged Nord with a panicked face, and as I took her gag off she yelled to look behind me. As I did, I saw three scruffy looking Nord brigands, one wielding a big hammer, the other just a short sword and a third one with a bow aimed at me. "You's here with the gold?" Spoke the hammer wielding one.

"Toss the bag here, then you can go with the cunt." Added the sword wielding one while he pointed at his feet. Realized then that I had gotten myself in the middle of some kidnapping and ransom ordeal, and so I said they could keep my gold if they beat me and rushed at them. As the archer aimed at me I covered my exposed face with my gauntlet and felt an arrow hit my cuirass. I laid down my hand and saw the hammer wielding bandit almost upon me, followed closely by the sword wielder. He swung down his battle hammer on me which I dodged and counter-swung my scimitar which he blocked with the hammer's shaft. I then covered his face in magic frost at point-blank range which caused him to drop his weapon and fall, clutching at his frozen face in agony. I turned just in time to see the sword wielder try to stab my exposed face, a blow which I quickly blocked. I dueled him after for a bit, taking care so as to always have him between me and the archer that kept trying to land another shot in me. His footwork was dreadful, like most bandits tend to show, and I quickly got the better of him with a stab to his exposed belly. I held his body as a cover as I approached the archer and dispatched him with frost when I was in range.

I got back to the hammer wielding bandit which still lived, squirming in the floor in agony until I stomped his face in under my boot. I then heard Barbas' impressed whistle. "Boy you sure showed them! I sure know how to pick them!" He added as he sat nearby, wagging his tail contently. I ignored his annoying voice while I searched the brigands' bodies for wealth, already stripping them down so I could feast.

"Are you going to set me free now...?" The Nord hostage asked reluctantly. Already had plenty of blood between the three dead bandits and any coin she might have had was surely with the bandits so I said she was none of my business. She started screaming for help which after a while got annoying to the point I threw her an iron dagger one of the bandits kept in his boot which she used to free herself, eventually, and run away from the mess I had left in that clearing.

After I looted the corpses, I started dragging the burly hammer wielding dead bandit towards a secluded spot in the bushes where I could eat undisturbed. I was so eager to dig in that I almost forgot about Barbas, who gazed at me as I stood there, holding the Nord's naked leg right in front of my salivating mouth but gauging the Daedra's reaction. He told me that there was no need for me to be shy, for he had seen Molag's "essence" flowing in my veins as soon as he had eyed me, so I nodded and ate my fill.

You may be wondering why I eat my victims instead of biting their necks like the tales have it. For me to feed off someone that way my victim needs to be alive, his heart pumping, his blood flowing. If he's dead, like most of my victims are, simply puncturing the neck doesn't draw nearly enough blood, so I have to eat the flesh raw. This vile cannibalism got easier with time. Still, every time I do it I'm reminded I'm a freak, a monster, more akin to Barbas than to my own mother and father. But that's when I buy a jug of Alto wine and, for a while, all is good.

The next few days of traveling were uneventful. Got to talk to Barbas a bit more about this axe we're fetching for Clavicus. He called it the "Rueful Axe" and "one of Clavicus' little jests". Originally, he had awarded it to a wizard named Sebastian Lort who had a Hircine worshiping daughter. Eventually, she contracted lycanthropy which broke Sebastian's heart, so he asked Clavicus for a cure to his daughter's curse. And yes, the god gave him the axe. To think I came dangerously close to asking Vile for a cure to my vampirism… I can only guess what type of torment the sadistic cunt had reserved for me but I kept my mouth shut. Barbas must have noticed my efforts of containment. "Clavicus isn't such a bad guy really, he just likes to have fun that's all! But that's why I need to get back to him! I tend to be the voice of reason and that's why he doesn't like me much sometimes…" So far Barbas seemed nice enough, and someone like Clavicus not liking him was definitely a plus. Still, the thought of strengthening this sadistic god by reuniting him with the dog fills me with unease…

Just arrived at a small village named Rorikstead and am writing this from the comfort of a tavern. Still have some coin so no need for contracts for now. Come dusk we head north once more.


End file.
